On the Trail of the Bloodhound
by RichardJ
Summary: The adventures and misadventures of Lieutenants James Fletcher and Randall Trevelyne in their gallant, if rash, attempt to rescue Jacky and the Lawson Peabody girls from a Moroccan harem. Book 2 of a series or can be read as a standalone story.
1. Chapter 1

On the Trail of the Bloodhound, Part 1:

Mr. L.A. Meyer is acknowledged as the creator of the Bloody Jack characters and story. This story is a parallel story to _From the Belly of the Bloodhound_ and tells of Jaimy and Randall's adventures and misadventures to free Jacky and the Lawson Peabody girls from a Moroccan harem. It can be read as a standalone story if you wish.

* * *

><p>It's late July, 1806, and my long wait for news of Jacky is finally over. I sit here reading the article in this morning's <em>Boston Herald<em> for the third time.

_Readers may recall that in June, thirty two girls from the Lawson Peabody School for Young Girls, Boston, were kidnapped by pirates and taken on board an unidentified ship thought to be heading for the Barbary Coast in North Africa. Despite attempts to make the kidnapping look like a tragic shipwreck, in which all the girls had been drowned, the efforts of a few of the girls' valiant friends proved they had indeed been kidnapped. Ships were sent out to scour the oceans for the pirate ship, but to no avail, and all hope of finding the girls before they disappeared into that pirates' den of iniquity was abandoned. In out last report we offered our heartfelt sympathy to the girl's parents whose poor daughters, many the cream of Boston's younger generation, must now be facing a very uncertain fate._

_But for one girl's parents there has been unbelievably good news. Miss Elspeth Godwit, one of the kidnapped girls, has returned safe and sound to Boston after making a heroic escape as the ship docked at Salé, Morocco. She has identified the pirate ship as the _Bloodhound_, a ship known to be involved in the African slave trade and a frequent visitor to our southern ports. _

_With the aid of a certain Mr. Harold Fotherington, a gallant Englishman and resident of Salé, she has made her way back to Boston on board the schooner _Petrel_. What a fine example of American womanhood this brave young girl is. Onlookers who saw her disembark the _Petrel _said she was dressed like an Arabian princess and there have been several enquiries at local dress makers from ladies wishing to purchase such a becoming outfit. _

_Miss Godwit unfortunately reports the death of one of the girls in a brave but futile attempt by the girls to escape while the _Bloodhound_ was at sea. The deceased girl, Miss Katherine Deere, was a maid at the Lawson Peabody School for Young Girls and has no known family. Miss Godwit and her parents have refused further interviews and are believed to have left Boston for the time being._

_Captain McTavish of the _Petrel_ has also refused to comment on his role in Miss Godwit's miraculous escape. It is believed the _Petrel_ will be returning to North Africa on Wednesday afternoon's tide. Ladies may be interested to learn that the _Petrel_ has landed a large selection of the finest North African fabrics which should be appearing in Boston shops by the end of the week._

_Readers may be aware that the American government is on good terms with the Sultan of Morocco who was one of the first African leaders to recognise American independence. In return America has been supplying the Sultan with arms to fight the Berber rebels to the south of the country and bring law and order to the rogue cities such as Salé. For centuries Salé and other lawless Moroccan port cities have been at the centre of piracy on the Atlantic coast of North Africa. Over the years thousands of Europeans have been taken as slaves and subjected the the most horrible cruelties in such cities. The infamous Sallee corsairs are now fortunately just a memory but ..._

I put down the newspaper and turn to Higgins and Randall Trevelyne, who are with me outside the office of Ezra R. Pickering, Attorney at Law, awaiting his return from an early morning court session. Ezra has been attending to Jacky's legal affairs and has continued his duties even though Jacky, along with the other girls, has been missing for nearly two months. For the second time this morning Higgins tries to get me to change my mind.

"You're surely not planning on dashing off to Morocco on the strength of that little bit of unconfirmed information are you? They can't even get Elspeth Goodwin's name right, so how can you be sure about the rest of the report?"

"I've made my mind up, I'm going. The _Petrel_ is still in Boston, so the article is right about that, and it says she'll be returning to North Africa on this afternoon's tide. If I'm quick I may be able to sign on as crew as far as Morocco and I'll then track down this Harold Fotherington. I may be able to find Jacky's whereabouts from him, if not I'll make other enquiries there."

"Right. You're going to travel to a dangerous foreign city where you can't speak the language. Find a man you don't know, and whose name may not even be the one you've been given, on the off chance he may know what happened to Jacky and the other girls. No problem. And what then?". Higgins is obviously in one of his more sarcastic moods, but I refuse to rise to the bait.

"Rescue Jacky, of course. We've been waiting for news for weeks and here we have it. I'm going."

"Wait, Jaimy," said Randall, "I'm coming with you. Give me an hour to pack my gear and I'll meet you where the _Petrel_ is docked."

"Thank you Randall, I'll welcome your company. I'll collect my things and say goodbye to Davy. I'll see you at the ship in an hour. Higgins, please will you stay here and tell Ezra what we are doing."

Five hours later, I, James Emerson Fletcher, former lieutenant of His Majesty's Royal Navy, and Lieutenant Randall Trevelyne, part time officer in the Massachusetts militia, are signed on as crew of the _Petrel_ and on our way to Morocco to rescue damsels in distress.

The speed of our departure means there are very few goodbye's to make. Davy was keen to join us but Higgins persuades him to stay and help him until more definite news arrives. I hate to admit Higgins may be right; we have only the barest of information to work with and little money other than what we can earn on this voyage. But where there's a will there's a way.

Higgins does at least give me a list of names of all the missing girls, although Jacky is the only one of them I know by sight. Randall can at least recognise about half of the others. I suddenly feel a twinge of guilt when I realise I have only been thinking of Jacky, and not the other girls, when I decided to set off on this mission.

Perhaps the crew of this ship know something. I doubt we'll get much out of Captain McTavish. He's definitely the sort of man who works on the principle that keeping his mouth shut about anything involving pirates and slavers is a good way to stay alive.


	2. Chapter 2

On the Trail of the Bloodhound, Part 2:

_On board the _Petrel,_ somewhere in the North Atlantic: 9 August 1806. Journal entry by James Fletcher._

This is the first entry in the travel journal of Lt. James Emerson Fletcher and Lt. Randall Trevelyne, en route to Salé, Morocco to rescue Jacky Faber and other girls of the Lawson Peabody School for Young Girls, Boston who were kidnapped in June 1806 while on a school outing. Should any person find this journal then it is likely we have met an untimely end, and it is our hope the notes in this journal will enable a search for the girls to continue from where we failed in our mission.

We've been at sea for two weeks and we are making good progress across the North Atlantic. This is the first time I've sailed on a schooner and I'm amazed how much easier she is to sail than a square rigged ship. She is quite fast and rumour among the crew is that we should reach Morocco in another two weeks. The ship's captain, Angus McTavish, is a gruff Scotsman in his 50s and has been at sea most of his life. The crew seem to respect him and call him Mac behind his back, but always Capt'n to his face.

The _Petrel_ is primarily a merchant ship, although she carries six 12 pounders on her main deck; which are bigger cannon than most merchantmen carry. At first Randall and I thought she was a pirate ship but the crew say that as she regularly sails between ports on the Barbary Coast they need the extra fire-power to deter pirates.

Randall and I are on different watches so between us we've had a chance to talk to most of the crew. Most of the crew of 23 speak English or French so we haven't had much need for another crew member as an interpreter. We haven't been able to gather much definite information, but advice has flowed freely. Not all the advice has been helpful.

We now think Elspeth Goodwin didn't escape in a heroic dash for freedom, and later aided by some gallant Englishman. It seems more likely this Harold Fotherington purchased her and has ransomed her to her father at a profit. The _Petrel_ secretly moored in a bay near Boston a few days before docking in Boston and the captain had gone ashore for nearly two days.

Scuttlebutt among the crew is that the captain contacted Mr. Goodwin and negotiated a ransom and now has a bag full of gold locked in his cabin. If the negotiations had failed, then poor Elspeth would now be on her way back to Morocco to join in the fate of the other Lawson Peabody girls.

As for advice, we've been told the names and locations of a few of Salé's more disreputable slave dealers, particularly those specialising in the discreet sale of young girls. We've also been given a couple of addresses where we might find lodgings.

It is sometimes difficult to tell whether we are being given sound advice or if we are having our legs pulled. Certainly most of the crew think we are crazy and stand no chance of finding any of the girls. All of them say that by now the girls will all be safely locked up in any number of brothels or sheik's harems and few, if any, will still be maidens. As one sailor put it, the Barbary Pirates have been at this business for over 300 years, so know every trick in the book. A slave girl will only be found if their owner is careless or wants her found.

Because we are on different watches, Randall and I get only limited time to talk together. We still don't have a definite plan of what to do when we get to Morocco. In fact we are not certain which port we are heading towards. If the crew are right about the gold, then our best chance is to follow the captain when we dock and hope he leads us to Harold Fotherington.

What doesn't seem to fit with what we've been told about a ransom, is why Mr. Goodwin didn't summon the law officers once Elspeth had been returned to him. The _Petrel_ docked at Boston for two days as it unloaded its cargo of fabrics and took on new cargo, so there was plenty of opportunity for the captain and crew to be arrested. Instead the Goodwin's left Boston and the _Petrel_ departed without any problems.


	3. Chapter 3

On the Trail of the Bloodhound, Part 3:

_On board the _Petrel_ somewhere in the North Atlantic: 15 August 1806. Entry by James Fletcher._

Three days ago we ran into a severe storm which tossed the _Petrel_ around so much part of her cargo came loose. For three hours we battled both the storm and shifting cargo, which together could have sent us to the bottom in moments. We survived the ordeal, but our French first officer, de Vaynes, was badly injured after being crushed by a moving crate. We have no regular surgeon on board and the first mate, Crippins, has had to take on the role of doctor as best he can. He has made de Vaynes as comfortable as possible but he needs Crippins regular attention.

De Vaynes injury has left Captain McTavish with two of his senior crew unavailable for sailing duty. Because of my naval officer's background, he has appointed me as a temporary junior officer until we reach port. This has gained me an invitation to join the captain, and the now acting first officer, Pellew, at dinner each evening. I can now talk directly with the captain on matters other than the running the ship.

Pellew is a well dressed young man, about 18 years of age, and obviously regards himself as something of a ladies man. Despite their age difference, McTavish and Pellew seem to get along well and Pellew has risen from ordinary crew member to the third most senior officer in the four years he's been on board the _Petrel_. There is a strong likeness in their features and I have a suspicion they may be father and son, despite the difference in their surnames.

I have been carefully asking them about Elspeth Goodwin and how she came to escape and end up travelling on the _Petrel_. At first they were reluctant to talk, but after several glasses of American whiskey, which both McTavish and Pellew seem particularly partial, snippets of information start to flow. I'm recording the information I've gleaned in a logical order rather than the bawdy and rambling outpourings of a slightly drunk McTavish and very drunk Pellew.

As we had already gathered, Elspeth did not escape the _Bloodhound _but left in the company of a man known locally as Prince Harry, but more generally as Harold Fotherington. Neither McTavish nor Pellew know him personally and only learned of his role in Elspeth's escape from her own lips. She told them that Fotherington arranged with a local merchant to find her transport to return her to America. She had no knowledge of any financial arrangements being made about her return and she naively thought everyone was helping her through the goodness of their hearts.

The merchant involved, a Hassan Nassar, arranged transport for her on the _Petrel,_ which she boarded two days later at Rabat, the city on the other side of the Bou Regreg river from Salé. She was wearing a new and very striking traditional Arab outfit, which Pellew takes great delight in describing. I assume it is the same one she was seen wearing when she arrived in Boston. Apart from a school uniform, looking very much worse for wear, it appears it was her only possession when she boarded.

I must discount Pellew's boast about how she spent the latter half of the journey with him in his cabin at night and what went on there. Randall had briefly met Elspeth before the kidnapping and didn't think she was that sort of girl. I hope I'm correct in this assessment and that Elspeth's condition wasn't why the Goodwin's left Boston in a hurry.

McTavish is very pleased with the business he's conducted in Boston. He says he sold the fabrics for nearly twice the price he was expecting, thanks to the article in the _Boston Herald._ His crowning glory was the sale of a woman's silk outfit for five hundred dollars. To prove it he showed me a copy of a bill of sale signed by none other than Mr. Goodwin. I commented that it was an exorbitant amount of money to pay for a silk outfit, to which he laughed and agreed, saying he felt obliged to throw in the girl who was wearing it at the time as part of the deal.

McTavish only spoke briefly of the merchant Hassan Nassar. The Nassar's operate a well established merchant and shipping business which is headed by Hassan, one of the younger sons of the now deceased former owner. McTavish knew the father very well and he has some respect for Hassan, but stays well clear of the oldest brother, Rashid. McTavish was about to give me their address, but fell asleep in a drunken stupor before he could and I had take over as duty officer on deck.

I was obliged to do double duty as neither McTavish nor Pellew were in a fit state to take their turn on watch. But it was worth the extra work just to get the information I've gleaned. Harold Fotherington is the key to our search and the Nassar merchants are our best means of finding him. If the Nassar merchants are an established business then they shouldn't be too hard to find.

Things are looking up and I can't wait to reach Morocco.


	4. Chapter 4

On the Trail of the Bloodhound, Part 4:

_On board the _Petrel_ with Rabat, Morocco in sight: 22 August 1806. Entry by Randall Trevelyne._

I may not know much about being a sailor, but Captain McTavish must be an excellent navigator. Just after dawn this morning we sighted the coast with a city straight ahead of us. As we draw closer several of the crew have confirmed it is Rabat, Morocco. This is where Jaimy and I intend to leave the _Petrel_ and find a fisherman to ferry us to nearby Salé.

I have only been able to speak to Jaimy in private once in the last week as he now spends his time with the ship's officers. He seems so certain about what will happen when we land. We have a few names and addresses which might lead us to the girls, but I think he is too optimistic in thinking these people will simply tell us what we need to know. We have very little money with which to buy information and Tom has confirmed my suspicion that nothing in Salé is given for free.

Thanks to a couple of the more friendly crew I can now speak a dozen words in Arabic. The most useful phrases being "I don't understand" and "do you speak English?". I gather most merchants in the city speak some English or French so we may be able to get by. After Rabat the _Petrel_ is heading south to Casablanca and then on to the Cape Verde Islands. McTavish apparently has family in both Casablanca and on the Islands. Rumour has it he has five mistresses in five different cities, none of whom are aware the others, and all married to other men.

On the journey from Boston there have been several times when I've wondered whether I did the right thing is joining Jaimy in such a rush. Now we are near our destination I have no doubts I did the right thing. I feel as though we are so close to finding the girls, although how we are going to free them is another matter.

Jaimy is very keen to focus on rescuing Jacky first, as her skills may prove useful in freeing the others. I worry at times that once she's free he'll want us to head back to America as soon as possible. But from what I've observed of Jacky, she won't want to leave until all the girls are free. Which may be an impossible goal since I don't doubt they will have all been split up by now. We can't possibly rescue them one at a time without some means of hiding and looking after the ones we rescued. With our paltry few dollars in our pockets, this is going to be harder than we first thought.

We are approaching the harbour and the cooling sea breeze has dropped and the mid-morning heat is stifling. I don't have any warm weather clothes, so it looks like we both may need to spend some of our precious money on some cooler clothing. Tom has pointed out a dock where we might find a fisherman to ferry us across to Salé and there seen to be several boats tied up there at the moment.

_Salé, Morocco: evening, 22 August 1806. Entry by James Fletcher._

An eventful and successful day. We docked at Rabat around 10 am this morning and were paid off by Captain McTavish. We offered to stay and assist with the cargo, but McTavish said there was little to be unloaded here and he didn't require our help.

Randall fortunately knew where we might find a fisherman to ferry us to Salé and after a few attempts we managed to find one who spoke a little French and could understand where we wanted to go. A couple of hours later we were on the dockside at Salé taking in the sights and strong odour of the city. Our landing point was near the slave markets and the stench was overpowering. McTavish had fortunately sketched a map of Salé for me so I knew which direction we should head to find the lodging house we had been told about. Our route took us through the main slave market. Fortunately it was midday and the market was empty of its sordid trade. Pellew had told me that all business stops for a few hours at noon, so we would find few places open for trade of any kind at this time of day.

After a few wrong turns we located the lodging house in a back alley near one of the larger bazaars. The room the landlord offered us is small and none too clean, but it is cheap and will suit our purposes. Our plan, such as it is, means we are likely to spend most of the day out and about, so we only need this room to sleep in at night. Our landlord, Abdul-Shakur, speaks reasonably good English and for a small addition to the rent will guard our belongings while we are out. I asked him about Harold Fotherington and he looked at me for a while as if he expected something, but finally he said he was unable to help us.

Randall and I spent the rest of the afternoon exploring the nearby streets and there were a large number of people out and about. As Pellew had said, most businesses reopen for trade after midday prayers. We found one which was selling various items of food and bought something to eat.

When returned to our lodgings, Abdul-Shakur said if we were looking for some white girls he knew an address that may be of interest to us. We couldn't believe our luck, could we have found some of them so quickly. Randall slipped him a couple of small coins in exchange for the address. Abdul-Shakur suggested going there about 9 o'clock tonight and asking for Fatima. We are just about to head there now.


	5. Chapter 5

On the Trail of the Bloodhound, Part 5:

_Our lodgings, Salé, Morocco. 28 August 1806. Entry by Randall Trevelyne._

A successful first week in Salé. Our destination on the first night turned out to be a brothel, but a reasonably clean and well appointed one. As instructed we asked for Fatima and enquired whether she had any new white girls of around 16 years of age. She didn't seem to understand English very well as she introduced us to three girls; the first, N'bula, was an African girl of about the right age; the second, Hala, was a well endowed girl whose facial features hinted at some European ancestry, but she was nearer 20 than 16.

However, the third, Sally, was a very pretty girl of about 16 with wavy auburn hair, and who spoke English with slight Welsh accent. She was reluctant to give us her surname but when we asked her whether it was Anderson she finally said it was. We couldn't believe our luck; she was on Higgins' list of names of the missing girls. I wanted to ask more questions but Fatima insisted one of us purchase an hour of Sally's time; choose another girl; or leave. Jaimy volunteered and went off to spend an hour with Sally.

I waited patiently for Jaimy to return, although the thought of spending some time with Hala was very tempting after so long at sea.

Later Jaimy returned convinced Sally was one of the Lawson Peabody Girls, although for some reason she didn't seem to know much about Boston.

Next morning we called at the brothel and spoke to Fatima about purchasing Sally from her. I thought she would be surprised at our request, but obviously such requests are a routine part of her business. But she set a price too high for us to afford and we stood up to leave. Sensing she was losing a deal, she offered to lower the price if we would do some jobs for her from time to time. At first we were worried what those jobs might be, but she managed to explain in her broken English that once in a while she needed one or two men to escort her girls between the brothel and her client's houses. Which is how Jaimy and I became employed part-time as prostitutes minders. At least is gives us an income and it can't be all that challenging a job.

Two days later we collected Sally and her few belongings from the brothel and take her back to our lodgings. Technically Jaimy is the one who purchased her as his officer's pay on the _Petrel_ gave him a little extra cash with which we could complete her purchase. Sally was overjoyed to be away from the brothel and promised Jaimy wouldn't regret buying her. In fairness, Jaimy tried to explain she was now a free woman, but she kept insisting that as she didn't have any family to protect her, she would rather remain his slave. She tried to explain to Jaimy that while she remained his slave he was responsible for ensuring she was clothed, fed and protected; but Jaimy didn't seem comfortable with the idea of owning a slave. Rather than make an issue of it now we both decided to go along with her request, so Jaimy is now the owner of a very pretty slave girl.

Abdul-Shakur didn't mind adding an extra bed to our room; for a small increase in the rent of course. The room is now a very tight squeeze when we are all together, and privacy is going to be a problem. Not that Sally seems to mind. In fact, for a well brought up young lady from America she seems to have adapted to life as Salé prostitute remarkably quickly, and I notice she speaks Arabic better than I would have thought possible in such a short time. Perhaps she knew some Arabic before the kidnapping.

I am beginning to have my doubts about her, but when I question her about what happened to her when she arrived, she had no hesitation in telling me there were thirty of them who were landed from the _Bloodhound_. Both the ship's name and number of girls are correct and I later verify with Jaimy that he hasn't told her. Unfortunately she knows nothing of what happened to the other girls.

Even if I have my doubts about Sally's credentials, she has been helpful if other ways. She can speak Arabic very well and knows her way around this part of Salé. She is also happy to keep our room clean, do our laundry, shop for food and prepare our meals when we eat in. She keeps herself clean and doesn't complain. Well, not often. All in all, she's a man's idea of a perfect girl and is just who we need to look after us while we search for the rest of the girls.

The other piece of good fortune Sally has brought us is she knows the location of the Nassar merchant business. It's about a 15 minute walk from our lodgings and in a very up market part of town. Tomorrow morning the three of us are going there to see if we can obtain the location of Harold Fotherington from them.

Tonight, however, I am earning my first commission as minder for one of Fatima's prostitutes. Jaimy has promised to work the next job.


	6. Chapter 6

On the Trail of the Bloodhound, Part 6:

_Our lodgings, Salé, Morocco. 16 September 1806. Entry by James Fletcher._

We are gradually making progress in our search for Jacky and the other girls. Our visit to the Nassar merchants was only partially successful. At our second attempt we managed to meet with Hassan Nassar. He confirmed his business was contracted to find transport for Elspeth Goodwin back to America, but would say nothing about the financial arrangements. He knows Harold Fotherington, but said his client's details are confidential.

He asked why we are making these enquiries, and as neither of us saw any reason not to tell him, we explained our mission. We introduced him to Sally, who seemed extremely nervous at meeting such a wealthy merchant. Nassar was surprised at our finding Sally and said our mission was very noble and he would make a few enquiries for us. He asked us to return in a week or so and, although he would no longer be in Salé, he would leave us word with one of his office staff about anything he'd found out.

Randall and I returned to the Nassar offices two days ago only to find no one in the office except a woman in her forties busy cleaning the floor. She introduced herself as Durrah and asked if we were expecting a message from Hassan Nassar. We confirmed he had promised to leave word if he had uncovered anything of interest, to which she replied he had said to keep an eye on the Barbarossa Bazaar over the next few weeks.

The Barbarossa Bazaar is only a few streets away from our lodgings but it is a very busy place during the morning. It would take dozens of people to properly observe the bazaar for any strange activity at that time of day. The bazaar market trades in practically everything including food, clothing, household wares, trinkets and jewellery. At noon all the stalls close for a few hours and not all reopen later. It is not so busy in the afternoon and is a pleasant place for a stroll among the traders willing to work in the hot afternoon sun. Hopefully what we are expected to see will occur in the afternoon.

Each morning Randall has been keeping an eye on the slave markets by the harbour in case by some remote chance any of the girls are still in the hands of a slave dealer. He is obviously disturbed by the human misery he sees, but he is bravely continuing his task.

Fatima has been keeping us both busy escorting her girls to and fro each evening and we are earning enough to cover the cost of food, lodging and clothing for the three of us. The job isn't particularly hard apart from occasional language difficulties. There have been a couple of times when a client has been reluctant to let the girl leave but we've so far managed to settle disputes without having to draw our swords.

Our earnings are too small to pay for the release of another girl and I've no idea how we are going to find enough to pay for passage back to America for us all. As soon as we solve one problem we seem to be faced with a dozen more, but our determination to rescue the girls remains the same.

_Our lodgings, Salé, Morocco. 30 September 1806. Entry by Randall Trevelyne._

We had an unbelievable stroke of good fortune yesterday. As recommended by Hassan Nassar, Jaimy and I have been watching the Barbarossa Bazaar for the last few weeks. I had just joined him from my morning watch of the slave markets when, much to our surprise, we noticed a familiar face. Jacky! At first we didn't recognise her as she was wearing a long flowing robe with a deep hood that only left her face visible. But there was no mistaking her. Jaimy was about to run to her but I held him back as I'd noticed she wasn't alone. An older woman was walking with her, perusing the market stalls that were open for business. Jacky saw us and quickly signalled us to remain where we were. About 10 minutes later she joined us having given her escort the slip. After a quick passionate greeting the three of us hurried back to our lodgings.

Sally was in the process of putting away the clean laundry when we arrived and there was a sudden halt in our conversation as Sally and Jacky eyed each other. Much to my surprise Jacky asked who Sally was, to which Sally replied she was Jaimy's slave. Both girls turned to Jaimy for an explanation of what was going on, but he suddenly lost the ability to put a sentence together. I quickly stepped in and explained how we had rescued Sally and that she was Jaimy's slave in name only.

Jacky then spoke with Sally in Arabic, which left both Jaimy and I in total confusion. After a minute or so she seemed satisfied with whatever Sally told her and she sat down on one of the beds. Without a further word Sally resumed what she was doing and left Jacky, Jaimy and I to talk.

There was so much news to share, but Jacky seemed more concerned about what we were going to do now. She told us that although they are all a sheik's slaves, the Lawson Peabody girls still held captive in Morocco are all safe and well, and being kept together in a harem at a place called Wadi Halaf. All the girls have sent ransom letters to their parents which must have arrived not long after we left Boston. In fact the ransom for five of the girls has been paid and the lucky five are already on their way back to America. She also informed us that our Sally is not the Sally Anderson from Boston, who is currently at Wadi Halaf.

We quickly told her how we came to be here and how we were looking for Harold Fotherington as a lead to finding the girls. Jacky told us we were standing only fifty feet from his office when we met this afternoon, but we no longer need to find him since we now know where the girls are. But our rescue mission seems less important if the girls are safe and their parents can pay a ransom to free them. However Jacky told us that not all the girl's parents will be able to raise a ransom within the six months given, and in her case the ransom is much more than she expects anyone to pay for her release. So our mission is still of great value and we will now, fortunately, have a more manageable number to rescue.

I asked which of the girls had been freed so far, and she said Lissette, Connie, Caroline, Priscilla and Abigail had left Morocco on an English frigate only yesterday. Jaimy duly crossed their names off Higgins' list. I asked if Clarissa was all right and Jacky confirmed she was keeping well and in good spirits despite the situation the girls are in. If Jacky is an example of how the other girls are coping, then they are being well looked after. This is the first time I've seen Jacky looking so graceful and well fed, and she has lost the scrawny appearance I remember from before.

Neither Jaimy nor I had any prepared plan of what to do next. Jacky became quite concerned at this, which seemed to contradict what she had said about the girls being alright. She told us that by disappearing this afternoon she would be regarded as an escaped slave and the penalty, if caught, would be death. Either we must ferry her out of Morocco quickly or she had better return at once before she is missed. After a few minutes discussion she decided she had best return until we had an escape plan arranged. She would arrange for someone to keep in contact, and who could pass messages between us. The sheik brought her into Salé regularly, so keeping in touch shouldn't be too difficult.

She left almost immediately after that and seemed to know how to get back without being caught. It was such a short visit and afterwards we realised there was so much we hadn't had time to tell each other. We never had a chance to tell her about the tip off from Hassan Nassar, and our work for Fatima. She never mentioned why she is brought into Salé regularly, nor did she mention the name of the sheik.

Now we must sort out what to do about Sally.


	7. Chapter 7

On the Trail of the Bloodhound, Part 7:

_Our lodgings, Salé, Morocco. 1 October 1806. Entry by James Fletcher._

We have spent most of today planning what to do next. Firstly we had to find out more about Sally now that Jacky has exposed her disguise. Sally was very upset when we accused her of lying to us, and on reflection I can see Randall and I were partly to blame. Her real name is Sahlah. Fatima suggested she call herself Sally when she started work as a prostitute as it is an English name, and English girls are very much in demand. Her mother was a Welsh convict who was being transported to Australia on board the _Lady Julian_ in late 1789, but who managed to jump ship when it stopped for supplies and conduct other business in the Canary Islands.

The legend of the year long journey of the _Lady Julian_, aptly nicknamed _the Floating Brothel_, has been part of sea lore for a decade. No one knows exactly how many of the 237 women and girl convicts listed in the ships' manifest actually set sail on the _Lady Julian_ since the prison records were a shambles. It is quite likely Sahlah's mother was one of several women who simply disappeared on the journey with none of her jailers having any record she was ever on board.

Sahlah and her mother worked for an elderly Arab merchant in the Canary Islands until she was 12. He then became ill and decided to return to his homeland in Morocco. Sahlah and her mother joined him, but he became too ill to support them so had to find someone suitable to look after them. Another merchant's son, Rashid Nassar, took them in, but proved to be a hard taskmaster, and when Sahlah tried to protect her mother from a beating he promptly sold Sahlah as a slave. At the end of last year her new owner sold her to Fatima's brothel.

As for the rest of her explanation, she thought that by saying her surname was Anderson we would be pleased and she could earn a few coins. She never intended any harm. She went on to say it was a local sailor who had come to the brothel a few weeks before we arrived who mentioned the 30 white girls and the _Bloodhound_. Being a bright girl she put two and two together and realised these were the girls we were looking for.

So in the end we decided everything was all right and Sahlah should stay with us. We would also start calling her by her real name. We both appreciate her taking care of us, and her local knowledge has helped us immensely. We suggested taking her with us when we go back to America, but she said she would prefer it if we found a Moroccan family to take her in as a maid or a kitchen servant when we left.

The next thing we work on is an escape plan. Our brief rescue of Jacky only proved we needed to act quickly once we have freed one of the girls. Our original idea of hiding the girls until we were all ready to leave is not going to work. We have overlooked the obvious fact that once a girl disappears her owner is likely to come looking for her. Sahlah told us that Jacky was right in saying her life is in danger if she is caught while escaping. The traditional penalty for a slave girl caught during an escape was for her to be tied inside a large weighted sack and thrown into the river.

I asked Randall and Sahlah if they thought the Nassar merchants would help us. Sahlah thought not, although she knew the cruel Rashid better than the cunning Hassan. Sahlah said one of her former clients at Fatima's brothel was a smuggler and may be willing to help for the right price. So tomorrow the three of us are going to find this smuggler and see what we can arrange.

Fatima has a big job for both of us next week. She and four of her girls are to work at a party at a politician's palace just outside Salé. She needs our protection in case things get out of hand. We've been warned that we must be on our best behaviour as a number of important foreign dignitaries will be there, but not to let their presence deter us from protecting her girls. I suppose she means if we have to kill someone, do it politely!

_Our lodgings, Salé, Morocco. 10 October 1806. Entry by Randall Trevelyne._

As much as I like Jaimy, there are times when he can be a total idiot. And not satisfied with being an idiot once, he manages to do two idiotic things in less than a day.

His first silly action was when we were minding Fatima and her girls at the palace party the other night. Everything was going well until around 9 o'clock when the meal had finished and the dancing girls were brought into the room. We were both standing at the back of the room with Fatima, waiting for her girls to return from their current assignations. Everyone seemed to be enjoying the evening and we had no trouble from any of Fatima's clients. Consequently we were able to give our full attention to the gorgeous girls in revealing costumes and their very sensual dancing. It was some minutes before we looked at their faces and realised the dancers we were watching were Jacky, Clarissa and four other girls we didn't recognise, but assumed to be Lawson Peabody Girls.

Jaimy suddenly became furious. He tried to barge his way through the men in front of him. Needless to say the men didn't take kindly to being distracted from ogling the girls. Jaimy had moved no more than eight feet before being grabbed by one of the palace eunuchs, a man six feet tall and built like an ox. It took me some time before I could find where he had taken Jaimy, whom I found sitting waist deep in a fountain, cooling off. Fatima wasn't pleased either and we didn't get paid for that night's work.

Not satisfied with losing our night's pay, he then upsets Sahlah. We had never asked her about the conversation she and Jacky had in Arabic, when Jacky was briefly in our room. Now Jaimy wanted to know, and Sahlah didn't want to tell us. I was quite happy to drop the matter, but Jaimy snaps at her and reminds her she is his slave and must tell him. The change was instantaneous. Gone was the happy and helpful Sahlah. In her place was a meek and subservient slave girl begging for her master's forgiveness. I felt ashamed and I hope Jaimy was as well.

As for the all important conversation, Jacky had merely asked of Sahlah's background and whether we were looking after her properly. The only part of the conversation Sahlah hadn't wanted to share was Jacky's question about whether Jaimy was any good in bed to which she said she answered truthfully.

It's a good job we've already met with Sahlah's smuggler contact and arranged an escape route through him when the need arises. I don't think in Sahlah's current mood she'd be willing to voluntarily offer help like that again.

Now I'm going to have to think of some way to undo the damage Jaimy has done.


	8. Chapter 8

On the Trail of the Bloodhound, Part 8:

_An unknown camp somewhere up the Bou Regreg river, Morocco. 18 October 1806. Entry by James Fletcher._

I have needed this time away from Randall and Sahlah to reflect on my mistakes. I regret snapping at Sahlah the other week, and no amount of saying sorry has put things back the way they were. After four days I could no longer stand the look of fear in her eyes and her subservient behaviour towards me. I know it is entirely my fault, but I've no idea how to repair the damage.

I've left Randall and Sahlah in Salé and they are keeping an eye on things there. We've had one short message from Jacky, delivered by Durrah, saying she has avoided being suspected of escaping after our aborted rescue attempt. Durrah is to be our regular contact and I'm wondering how much involvement the Nassar merchants have with Jacky and the girls' captivity.

I'm still a bit angry with Jacky. She was obviously enjoying her dancing at that palace and having all those men ogle her. I've been here long enough to know that dancing wasn't the only form of entertainment she would have performed that night. I know she's being held as a slave and must do as she's told, but she doesn't have to look so happy about her work. I'm trying hard to get it out of my mind and I still don't know if I can forgive her for her waywardness.

I've travelled up the Bou Regreg river to see if I can find Wadi Halaf, where Jacky said she and the girls were being held. The river boat that brought me was making the most of the strong on-shore wind to return up river after bringing farm produce into Salé. The boatman spoke a little English and dropped me off at the nearest point on the river to Wadi Halaf. I walked for nearly an hour in the direction he pointed but could only see an old fort on a low hill a mile or so to the east. Sahlah had previously told me there is a ring of disused forts around the city, which in days gone by formed part of the city's outer defences.

It was getting very hot and the low scrub and bushes didn't offer any shade. I had very little water with me and decided to turn back to the river. Somehow I became disoriented and lost my way. I must have been wandering for several hours when I stumbled across two men riding camels. Their colourful flowing robes covered nearly all of their body and only their eyes were visible. I noticed they were well armed with long muskets and swords. For a moment I was very worried as I realised they must be Berber tribesmen, who, according to the article in the _Boston Herald_, are rebels and at war with the Sultan.

Fortunately they weren't pointing their weapons at me and seemed to be cautious rather than hostile. Neither of them understood English or French so although I tried to ask for directions to the river or Wadi Halaf they were unable tell me. I was becoming weak from hours in the hot sun and can't remember at what point I fainted.

It must have been several hours later when I came around in the cool of the evening. I was obviously in a Berber encampment but I had no idea where. With me inside a large tent were three women and two men sitting near me. Like the other two men, I had shackles on my ankles and we were chained together. I and the other men were obviously prisoners but it was impossible to tell whether the three women were as well.

I still had paper and pen, so I've written this note for our journal should I ever be in the fortunate position of seeing it again and can copy this note into it.

_Our lodgings, Salé, Morocco. 20 October 1806. Entry by Randall Trevelyne._

Sahlah and I are becoming very worried about Jaimy's continued absence. He was due back two days ago and we've had no word. I wished he listened to my advice and not go charging off up river on his own. Unfortunately there doesn't seem to be anything more we can do to help. I've mentioned Jaimy is missing to Fatima, and she has promised to keep her ears open in case any of her clients know of his whereabouts, but she warned it's a long shot at best.

Anyway, Sahlah and I have been busy with our own enquiries, particularly relating to the Nassar merchants, who seem to crop up at every turn of events in our mission. Sahlah already knew some of their background and we've finally established a connection between Hassan Nassar and Wadi Halaf. It seems likely that he, or one of his brothers, is the one holding the girls captive. I'm recording what we know in case any of it becomes relevant.

The Nassar family history traces back to one of the notorious pirate leaders of the 17th century who plundered and pillaged his way to a large fortune. As he grew older he divided his spoils between his four sons and one of them set up a merchant business by the docks in Salé. The other three continued a pirate's life and all three died within five years of inheriting their wealth. Their money was then shared between the surviving brothers until everything that remained became the property of the merchant.

At first the business dealt in converting pirate's booty into cash and dealt in almost every type of goods ranging from precious jewels and gold artefacts, to slaves and ransomed captives. Over time the business dealt less with stolen goods and slaves, and more with honest trade goods. About a hundred years ago the family built a small palace called Wadi Halaf, which has remained the home of the owner of the merchant business ever since. We don't know if Wadi Halaf is the name of a town or a village, or is the name of the house out in the country. The father of the current owner died two years ago. He had three surviving sons and a daughter.

The oldest son is Rashid, who Sahlah knows only too well. For all we know Sahlah's mother is still in his harem. She describes him as a hard and sometimes cruel man who lets nothing stand in the way of what he wants. He spends a lot of time in the Sultan of Morocco's court and has many political connections among the Sultan's supporters.

The next eldest son is Abdul who is a scholar and spends most of his time studying in the distant city of Fez. Sahlah says he is a shy and quiet man who generally follows Rashid's lead.

The youngest two children are Hassan and his twin sister A'isha who live at Wadi Halaf. Their mother is a Berber and this sometimes causes trouble between Hassan and Rashid as the Sultan and the Berber tribes are never on the friendliest of terms. The trouble between the brothers has only been made worse when their father left the family business to Hassan rather than Rashid.

Sahlah describes Hassan as an honest but shrewd businessman who was managing the business long before his ageing father died. From what she describes of him he seems very much like Jacky in the way he thinks and works. Sahlah has never met A'isha but has heard Rashid mention her a few times, and thinks she now manages the Wadi Halaf palace for her brother.

Of the business itself, the Nassar merchants have a reputation for straight dealing, but are known to be quite ruthless if anyone tries to double cross or steal from them. There are few traders in Salé, honest or crooked, who would go against either Rashid or Hassan. According to the tales Sahlah has heard, anyone crossing Rashid is likely to end up floating face down in the harbour, and anyone crossing Hassan is likely to suddenly find themselves a pauper.

That's as much as we know at the moment and we now wait anxiously for news of Jaimy.


	9. Chapter 9

On the Trail of the Bloodhound, Part 9:

_An unknown camp somewhere up the Bou Regreg river, Morocco. 25 October 1806. Entry by James Fletcher._

I've been here a week now and have only been allowed outside this tent to relieve myself, and then only with a guard and the two men linked to my chains. Two of the three women are still here, but the third was taken away three days ago and hasn't returned. Each morning one of the two women goes to fetch our food while the other fetches drinking water in a large jar. This is our only food and water for the day. Every few hours one of the guards looked in on us but never says anything.

None of my fellow prisoners speak English or French and I'm begining to wish I'd learnt some Arabic. The youngest woman, who I think is called Hana, must be about 18 or 19 years old. She is very pretty and, when the other woman isn't looking, she and I exchange furtive glances. I'm not certain what she expects me to do given our circumstances.

By this time I had followed the example of the other two men and removed my jacket and shirt. The heat inside the tent is almost unbearable. The women keep themselves fully clothed in their long flowing robes, which seem to be traditional wear in these parts. All of us were too exhausted by the heat to say more than a few words to each other, not that I could understand them anyway.

We were all settling down for another dreary day when there was a sudden commotion outside. After a short while the tent flap opened and a man entered to remove our chains. All five of us were marched into the centre of the camp where a small group of men were assembled. We were made to line up facing the men. I seemed to be the only one of the five of us who was surprised by this turn of events and the women didn't seem to mind as one of the men examined them closely. It was then that I realised we were being offered for sale as slaves.

After a few minutes our captors and the other men started haggling and some sort of deal was eventually struck. We were marched back to the tent and the guard said something which, judging from the actions of the other four, was an instruction to pack our things. It took only a few minutes to pack my meagre belongings and we all sat there awaiting our fate. As nothing has happened for the last 15 minutes I've quickly taken out my paper and pen and scribbled this note for our journal. Not that I'm expecting to ever see it again.

_Our lodgings, Salé, Morocco. 25 October 1806. Entry by Randall Trevelyne._

We are both very worried about Jaimy's continued absence and are starting to fear the worst. I have been trying to think of what else I can do to help find him, but Sahlah says we have done everything we can. She is very upset about Jaimy's disappearance and I think despite his awful treatment of her the other week, she actually likes him a lot. If it weren't for Jacky, I think he may have taken advantage of Sahlah's obvious willingness to share his bed.

Our funds are starting to look very tight as there is only my income, such as it is, paying for our food and rent. We will be alright for another week or so, but I'm having to work extra hours for Fatima during the day to earn enough to keep us. Unfortunately this means I've little free time to find out more about Wadi Halaf and must more and more rely on Sahlah to carry out our mission.

Sahlah has been a great help despite how we've treated her. She has found out that an English officer from naval intelligence in London has been in Salé making enquiries about a dancing girl with a blue tattoo on her belly. He must be looking for Jacky! I think I must have briefly seen him one night last week when I escorted Fatima and her girls to an old fort a couple of hours ride out of Salé. I didn't see much of the inside of the fort as we arrived when it was going dark, and I then spent endless boring hours waiting in a small room. When we were returning, just before dawn the next morning, I caught a glimpse of a group of English officers, obviously well satisfied with Fatima's girls, preparing to head back to Salé.

From what Sahlah was telling me I thought for a moment that the fort must be Wadi Halaf, since it was obviously where the intelligence officer had been looking for Jacky. But then I remembered overhearing their conversation about how the girl they had come to see dance could not possibly be Jacky. So our hunt for the location of Wadi Halaf must continue.

Sahlah suggested asking Durrah for the location but I think we need to be careful about any further involvement with the Nassars or their employees. Perhaps we should trace Harold Fotherington after all and see if he can be of help. Jacky mentioned his office was close to where we met in the bazaar, so it shouldn't be too hard to find.

Although she is worried about Jaimy's absence, Sahlah seems to be gradually returning to her more carefree self and is much more relaxed. We often spend an hour or so talking during evenings when Fatima has no work for me. She has told me a bit about life in a harem so I'm starting to understand what life must be like for Jacky, Clarissa and the other girls. Although how any man could tolerate thirty rebellious schoolgirls in his harem is beyond me.


	10. Chapter 10

On the Trail of the Bloodhound, Part 10:

_On board a river boat on the Bou Regreg river, Morocco. Afternoon 25 October 1806. Entry by James Fletcher._

I had barely finished my last entry for our journal when the five of us were lined up and marched off towards the river, escorted by six mounted guards. After an hour or so we reached a place where a river boat was moored. But something was obviously wrong as the guards became agitated and readied their muskets. They were clearly expecting someone to be with the boat. Two of the guards rode a short distance away to look around, while the other guards took us on board the boat.

Suddenly there were shots and a lot of shouting. A dozen men on horseback charged from behind a nearby grove of trees. They were wearing some form of uniform which I realised meant they must be soldiers of the Sultan's army. A brief fight followed in which men on both sides were wounded or killed. Outnumbered, our surviving guards fled off in the direction we had come. The other two male prisoners and the older woman decided to run off as well, but had hardly left the boat when they were spotted by the Sultan's soldiers who gave chase. Shots were fired and I saw one of the male prisoners fall to the ground.

The actions of the soldiers dispelled any idea that this might be a rescue. I quickly grabbed Hana, who was sitting next to me, and we dived under a sail lying across the front part of the boat. I could just reach the mooring rope from our hiding place and I unlashed the rope. The river current took hold of the boat and we drifted downstream. Fortunately for us the Sultan's soldiers were preoccupied in chasing our guards and the two fleeing captives and didn't notice our departure.

Once we were a safe distance from the battle I hoisted the sail and took control of the tiller. There was just enough of a breeze to give us headway and I was able to guide the boat into the main channel. We passed two floating bodies in the water, who must have been the boat's original crew.

After about half an hour Hana said something to me but I'd no idea what she was saying. She tried again with hand signals which seemed to indicate something on the left. Shortly after I realised what it was she was trying to tell me; the river forked just ahead and she was instructing me to take the left channel.

We managed to rig a canvas shade during the hottest part of the day and we consumed our meagre food supply in one meal. Shortly after Hana signalled for me to stop the boat near a small tributary stream and I thought she was planning on leaving. But she grabbed a water jar and filled it with clear water from the stream and promptly returned to the boat.

_Our lodgings, Salé , Morocco. Evening 25 October 1806. Entry by James Fletcher._

Our journey downstream took until early evening when the lights of Salé on the right bank, and Rabat on the left, became visible. By 9 o'clock we had tied the boat up at a wharf full of other river boats and we headed towards the lodgings. Hana seemed to know Salé and when I mentioned Barbarossa Baazar she understood and was able to take me there. From the baazar I knew my way to the lodgings where we arrived about 10 o'clock at night to find Randall was out working for Fatima, and Sahlah was preparing for bed.

Sahlah seemed overjoyed to see me. I quickly stopped her from going down on her knees like a slave, and introduced her to Hana. Sahlah and Hana chatted away happily in Arabic for the next half hour. As much as I would have loved to have joined in the conversation, I didn't interrupt. They were still chatting when Randall returned, and he too seemed really glad to see me.

Despite the late hour we shared our adventures and Sahlah let us know what Hana had told her. Hana is the daughter of a Berber tribal leader. A month ago she was seized by a rival tribe and was being held hostage. Whatever was to happen to secure her release went wrong and her captors were about to sell her as a slave. The two women with her were from her tribe, and the one who disappeared shortly after I arrived had been sent back to their tribe with a message.

We were tired and any decisions about what to do next could wait until morning. I offered Hana my bed and I slept on floor squeezed between Hana and Sahlah's beds.

_Our lodgings, Salé , Morocco. 26 October 1806. Entry by Randall Trevelyne._

I woke this morning to find the other two beds pushed together and Jaimy asleep snuggled between Sahlah and Hana. For someone who came to rescue girls from a harem, Jaimy seems intent on starting one of his own.

Jaimy's return has brought a solution to our financial problems. The river boat he arrived on no longer has a living owner. If we sell it quickly, before anyone else claims it, we should have plenty of money to pay for transport to America. Not entirely honest, but this is a city full of dishonest men. Sahlah's smuggler friend proved to be just the man to broker a quick sale and we now have a tidy sum of money safely hidden.

Hana has arranged for a message to be sent to her father and she expects he will arrange an escort to take her back to her tribe in due course. My heart sank when she told me she was related to Hassan Nassar. This man crops up everywhere we go. However, because of the family connection she has been able to tell us where Wadi Halaf is. It turns out it is the old fort which both Jaimy and I have seen on different occasions. The walls of the fort were left intact when the inside was converted into a palace. No wonder Jaimy didn't recognise it when he saw it.

That still leaves the puzzle of why the English officers didn't think the dancing girl they saw was Jacky. They were definitely in the right place, so it must have been a clever deception pulled off by Jacky. I suppose we'll have to hear that story from her.

We are resting today and sorting out our things. Abdul-Shakur has offered us a larger room, for an increased rent, one floor above this one and we are moving in there tomorrow.


	11. Chapter 11

On the Trail of the Bloodhound, Part 11:

_Our lodgings, Salé, Morocco. 31 October 1806. Entry by Randall Trevelyne._

About 11 o'clock yesterday morning we received an urgent message delivered by Durrah telling us that Jacky was in trouble and had been sent to be sold by a slave dealer here in Salé. Durrah gave us the dealer's name and address. Sahlah said she knew where the street was, but didn't recognise the name of the dealer. Within minutes Randall, Sahlah and I were on our way to the address we'd been given. Hana stayed with Durrah in our new room, which thankfully was large enough to entertain guests without having to climb over the beds.

It took us 15 precious minutes to wind our way through the crowded bazaars and streets before we reached the street we were looking for. I had been along this street before, during my vigil over the morning slave trading, but didn't previously know the street's name. It is a long narrow street with an almost unbroken line of slave dealer's premises. Each dealer had a selection of his stock of slaves sitting or standing along the front wall of his premises while the dealer sits nearby under the shade of an umbrella or by a window directly overlooking his wares.

From my earlier observations of the slave markets I know the dealers would be trying hard to sell their slaves directly rather than incur the expense of putting them up for public auction in the main slave market. By tradition this trade stops at midday and the slaves returned to the dealer's compound until the following day. It is nearly half past eleven, so we have very little time to find the dealer we seek if we are to prevent Jacky from being sold and disappearing with someone we will have little chance of finding.

Our search is becoming frantic as noon approaches. Suddenly Jaimy sees Jacky standing in front of a dark skinned boy of about our age. The cut of the boy's clothes indicated he is extremely wealthy and poor Jacky is made to stand their naked while he examines her. I have seen enough of this ugly trade during my watch of the slave markets to know that the boy is very interested in purchasing Jacky. I don't need Jaimy's whispered warning to notice the three guards accompanying the boy. Any thought of stealing Jacky from him as he walks away with her is not going to work.

It was Sahlah who takes the initiative. She quietly walks a short distance down the street and returns so as to stand not far behind Jacky. The boy examining Jacky was distracted by the sight of Sahlah standing very seductively just out of Jacky's view. The slave dealer suddenly realised he may lose a sale if the boy is more interested in Sahlah, and promptly shoos Sahlah away. But Sahlah's efforts are enough to make the boy hesitate in making a purchase, and he decides to follow Sahlah down the street.

The noon gun sounds and the dealer marches his slaves into his compound and his guards bolt the strong wooden gates shut. After a quick discussion, Jaimy follows Sahlah to make sure she has been able to evade the boy's attentions. Meanwhile I head to where we have hidden our money, to collect enough to pay our smuggler to ferry Jacky out of the country.

During the afternoon and evening, Jaimy and I watch the compound from a safe distance. We have arranged everything with the smuggler and all we have to do is to deliver Jacky to his premises before dawn. As we watch we realise the guard at the gate is not very vigilant and spends most of the time dozing. A second guard patrols the perimeter of the wall, but he too is not very thorough in his job.

There are two places where we can climb over the compound wall, which are out of sight of the guard at the gate and are only covered by the patrolling guard once an hour. If we wait until the patrolling guard has passed, we should have more than enough time to climb into the compound and release Jacky.

Just before midnight we make our move. The wall is in poor condition and it is difficult to scale it without dislodging stones and alerting the guards. We managed to climb it quietly though, and head towards the low buildings against the far wall, which our noses tells us must be where the slaves are kept at night. Sure enough we find three large cages holding about thirty poor souls chained in coffles of five. All are asleep, or if they aren't, they pretend to be. We find the cage holding the women slaves, and sure enough Jacky is there. Like the others she is asleep on some mouldy straw with very little room to move about. She is locked in her coffle by an ankle chain which looks very old and rusty.

The door to the cage has a new lock, but the hinges are quite worn. It takes only a moment to break the two hinges and lift the door out of the way. Had the guards been alert they would have come to investigate the noise we are making, but neither guards nor the sleeping slaves made any movement. I quietly wake Jacky while Jaimy takes out his knife and prizes open the ancient lock on the fetter around her ankle. In less than a minute she is free of the chain.

Without further ceremony the three of us quietly head back to the place in the wall we had entered. Within minutes the three of us are safely away from the compound heading for the smuggler's premises. Normally we would have plenty of time to reach our destination before dawn, but Jacky is feeling very tired and distressed after her ordeal, and we think it better to find somewhere to rest for an hour. We find a quiet alley off a street where we can rest with little chance of being disturbed at this time of night. Jacky is very emotional and I lose count of the number of times she says thank you and hugs and kisses us.

It is nearly two hours later when we set off again. We notice that there are already people out and about, preparing for their day's work. We take several detours to avoid being stopped and questioned. In the end we only just make it the the smuggler's premises in time. I give the coded sequence of knocks on the door and we are hurried inside by the smuggler.

I show him the money to pay for Jacky's safe passage, but he becomes distressed when he sees she is a girl. He starts ranting in Arabic, which fortunately Jacky is able to translate for us. The plan is going all wrong. We had not told him we were rescuing a girl, and for some reason he thought Jacky would be a man. His escape plan is to place Jacky as crew on board a local ship. But the ship's captain will never take a woman on as crew, so we are stuck.

The four of us try to think of a way to get Jacky away from Morocco, but it becomes increasingly obvious that there was no way to do this without us all being caught. At some point in the conversation the smuggler notices Jacky is wearing a light slave collar and he reads the inscription on it. I'd noticed the collar earlier, but thought nothing of it as I assumed slave girls are often made to wear one. But Jacky quickly corrects my mistake. It is not common for a girl to wear a collar and it is only favoured slave girls that wear them. The inscription is the name of her former owner, and it is clearly one that strikes fear into the smuggler. Hassan Nassar.

The smuggler now wants us out of his premises at once and even returns the money I've paid him in advance. It is daylight by now and we can't hope to go far without being noticed. While no one would necessarily stop us in the street, any search for Jacky would certainly find witnesses able to point suspicion in our direction. There are not that many free white men in Salé, so we wouldn't be that hard to find. I know Jacky would face a death sentence if caught, and I suspect there is some equally gruesome fate for anyone caught helping a slave escape.

Once again Jacky takes charge of our plight, and strikes a deal with the smuggler whereby he would hand her over to Hassan Nassar and possibly gain a reward, if not in gold, then certainly in good standing with the Nassars. The smuggler seems mollified by this proposal and agrees. Jacky kisses us farewell and tells us to leave. Neither of us wants to go, and we both recognise the danger she is placing herself in. But we can't think of a better solution, so we promise her we will not stop in our efforts to free her and we leave.

We arrive safely back at lodgings and break the news to Sahlah and Hana. They try to comfort us in our distress, and remind us that we have at least saved Jacky from the slave dealer, even if only temporarily. However, there's no escaping the fact: two rescue attempts; two failures. We must do better next time.


	12. Chapter 12

On the Trail of the Bloodhound, Part 12:

_Our lodgings, Salé, Morocco. 7 November 1806. Entry by James Fletcher._

At last we have received word that Jacky is safely back at Wadi Halaf, even if we don't know if she escaped punishment entirely. Durrah delivered the message and said Jacky looked to be in good shape and was back in Hassan Nassar's harem. As usual Durrah stops to gossip with Hana and Sahlah. We have found her gossip a useful source of information about what is happening elsewhere in Morocco.

Unfortunately the events wider afield are not good news for our mission. Relationships between the Sultan, the city states such as Salé, and the Berber tribes have been a three way stand-off for 10 years or more and, apart from the occasional small raid by one side or another, has kept the country at peace. Now the Sultan has received aid from America and has mustered his newly equiped army. Largely due to the influence of Rashid Nassar, the leaders of Rabat and Salé have made an alliance with the Sultan.

Rumour has it that the outer forts around Salé are being garrisoned for the first time in decades and the nomadic Berber tribes have moved south-east into their strongholds in the Atlas mountains. Everyone seems to be on edge as no-one knows when and where the Sultan's army will strike. Hana, being a Berber, is now in a very dangerous situation, and we feel it wiser for her to remain in our lodgings.

Durrah had only left us an hour earlier when four men burst in through the window of our room. All are armed and Sahlah and Hana let out piercing screams. Both Randall and I leap for our swords but we can't reach them before a pistol is pushed in each of our faces. The men don't seem to want to harm us and we all stand there for what seems like ages before anyone speaks.

It is Hana who speaks first, and runs to one of the men and gives him a big hug. We all relax a little when it becomes apparent the four men are from Hana's tribe and are here to take her back home. I go to look around downstairs, in case the girls' screams have roused any attention. Abdul- Shakur is hiding under his desk, showing no interest in getting involved with anything that may be happening in our room. I slip him a few coins and say sorry for the disturbance and that everything is alright. He swiftly pockets the coins and goes about his business.

The plan for Hana's rescue is ridiculously simple. They will wait until dark and walk to where their camels are hidden on the outskirts of Salé. Unknown to either the Sultan's army or the Salé garrison, there are over a hundred mounted Berbers hidden in the woods on the outskirts of the city, well inside the fortified defences. Their purpose is to find recruits among those who are unhappy with Salé's alliance with the Sultan, and to raid for food and weapons. They prefer to operate by stealth rather than attack the citizens of Salé, so there should be no unnecessary bloodshed as Hana makes her escape.

We have a few hours to wait until dark, so I take time to reflect on our mission to rescue Jacky and the girls, and what we can do now if we are likely to be stuck in the middle of a civil war. Every time I start thinking about Jacky I feel a twinge of uncertainty. Not about rescuing her, but about how I feel towards her. On the few occasions I've seen her in Morocco, I've realised that she is no longer the scrawny girl I knew, but has quickly grown into a graceful and beautiful young woman. Her hair is no longer the short tangled mop I remember, but has grown and been nurtured into a magnificent mane that falls half-way down her back. I'm not certain I know the woman Jacky has become.

And then there is Sahlah. I'd be lying if I said I didn't find her attractive and good company. But it is difficult to tell her true feelings. Is she being affectionate and kind toward me simply because she's my slave, and such behaviour is expected of her, or because she genuinely feels that way.

Randall breaks my train of thought and comes over to discuss what we should do next. We both agree that we have to act quickly. If the Sultan's main army is heading in this direction we have only a few weeks at most to rescue the girls. We decide that it will be better if we move out of Salé and make our base nearer to Wadi Halaf.

A few hours later Hana and her escort are gone. Sahlah translates Hana's parting words, which say Randall and I are honoured friends of her tribe. With us about to be surrounded by the Sultan's army, I'm not certain whether being friends of a Berber tribe is a good or bad thing.

_Our camp, Bou Regreg river, Morocco. 15 November 1806. Entry by Randall Trevelyne._

We were fortunate to find this deserted farmhouse only a couple of miles from Wadi Halaf. In the week we've been here we've seen a lot of activity in the area around us, but fortunately no-one has thought to check on this house. The first day we were here we saw about fifty armed men marching towards Wadi Halaf. We followed them at a distance and saw them enter the fort, so presume they were reinforcing the garrison. The following day we saw a much larger mounted group across the river heading south-east. Their uniforms indicated they were the Sultan's soldiers, but they didn't look particularly well organised. A few days later we saw the same group return, only fewer of them and carrying wounded soldiers. They had obviously been in a battle and from the looks of it came off second best.

Our plan to rescue the girls is almost ready. Another two days and we'll have everything prepared. We hope to make the most of the confusion caused by the mounting troubles around us. Our plan is to sneak into Wadif Halaf dressed like the garrison soldiers and find our way to the harem. If we can disguise the girls as soldiers we may be able to whisk them to safety before anyone notices they've gone. It's a huge gamble, but we don't have too many options open to us. Once we've freed the girls we'll pick up the horses and wagons we've left in Sahlah's care, hidden on the other side of the river, and head south the port of Casablanca. It's a long journey, but anyone looking for us is unlikely to think we've headed in that direction.


	13. Chapter 13

On the Trail of the Bloodhound, Part 13:

_Wadi Halaf, Morocco. 25 November 1806. Entry by James Fletcher._

This, and other entries made at Wadi Halaf, are written several days after the events occurred. So much happened is such a short space of time that writing entries in our journal was the last thing Randall or I could worry about at the time.

As planned, we woke early on the 17th and donned our Arab disguises. We edged our way forward to within sight of the fortress walls hoping there would be an early morning mist to hide our entry into Wadi Halaf. But for the first time in days there was no mist. We were about to return to the farmhouse to try again the next day when Randall spotted a large column of dust on the other side of the river. I took out my telescope and found myself looking at over two hundred mounted Berber about to cross the river to our side. Their crossing point would bring them directly to our farmhouse.

While we might be the friends of Hana's tribe, we had no idea which of the many Berber tribes we now faced. My previous experience with Berber tribesmen warned me not to trust them. Added to which the clothes we were wearing marked us as garrison troops and the Berber would likely shoot us on sight. There was only one thing for it and we ran towards the gates of Wadi Halaf begging to be let in.

Although the guards on the gate couldn't speak English, nor could they see the Berber yet, they recognised there was something amiss and allowed us to enter. We were taken to a meeting room in one of the wings of the magnificent small palace that graced the inside of the fort. Seated there was a man who introduced himself as Rashid. We decided not to give him our real names in case he suspected a trick. He issued an order to one of his guards who promptly left the room. We started to tell him about the Berber crossing the river and heading towards Wadi Halaf. He seemed sceptical, saying the Sultan's army was pushing the Berber east and there couldn't possibly be such a large force of Berber this close to Salé.

Our cover was blown a few minutes later when Jacky was escorted into the room. She immediately greeted us by our real names and Rashid looked as though he was about to dismiss our story and have Randall and I locked up. Fortunately for us Hassan walked into the room just as Jacky was being returned to the harem. He took our warning seriously and after asking a few questions gave orders for his soldiers to man the walls.

We were taken to the armoury and each handed a musket, powder and shot. Hassan explained that the garrison was too small to withstand such a large force, so every able bodied man was needed to fight. He placed us under the command of one of his older soldiers who could speak a little English and we were stationed on the north wall.

Shortly after 10 am the first shots were fired. The Berber had encircled the fort and were shooting from behind rocks and from their camels, probing for weak spots in our defences. But Hassan had arranged his soldiers carefully, so it appeared the walls were well defended all around the perimeter. In reality groups of defenders quickly moved from one place to another to disguise our inability to defend any position against a concentrated attack. We had no more than twenty men on each of the four walls.

Their first full attack was against the east wall while sharpshooters kept the defenders on the other three walls busy. We were gradually taking casualties, but we were able to claim greater success in return. Hassan ordered five men from each of the north, west and south walls to reinforce the east wall and Randall was one of those who went. It was a close fought battle, but the Berber were eventually driven off. We had taken several casualties with over a dozen of our men wounded or killed. Randall was fortunately unscathed from his ordeal but it didn't take a military genius to work out that we couldn't withstand many more attacks like that.

After repeated sniper shots the next attack was an hour and a half later, and again against the east wall. As before defenders were moved from the other walls to reinforce the east wall. This time I joined the group moved to the east wall so that those who fought off the last attack could be rested. There seemed fewer Berber this time and their attack pressed with less determination. Suddenly there was a shout from the north wall defenders. The Berber were mounting a second attack against the now poorly defended north wall. Along with the other men who had been originally stationed on the north wall, I ran back to help the north wall defenders. The attack against the east wall suddenly resumed with more vigour and all the other defenders left on the east wall were needed there. That left only sixteen uninjured men defending the north wall.

The next twenty minutes were a blur. No sooner had we fought off one attempt to scale the walls then another was made further along. I and another man ran towards three Berber who had successfully climbed the wall and were readying their weapons. I fired my pistol and one of the Berber went down. But the other two fired their weapons and hit the man with me in the chest. I drew my sword and charged the two men but my sword arm suddenly felt very weak. I then realised I'd been hit in the shoulder and was bleeding quite badly. I staggered and one of the Berber moved towards me, obviously intent on finishing me off. But he didn't reach me and I saw Hassan standing behind him with a bloody sword in his hand.

The next thing I remember was waking up in the meeting room we had first entered. Along with other wounded soldiers we were having our injuries tended by young women. The girl tending to my wound introduced herself as Martha and I quickly realised she was one of the Lawson Peabody girls we had come to rescue. Instead, it seemed as though the Lawson Peabody girls were rescuing me. I couldn't help notice that Martha was giving me a lot of personal attention. I'm ashamed to admit I was more than happy with this arrangement and my noble pleas that she tend to other wounded men were half-hearted at best. Not that those men lacked for attention as I could see a dozen girls working feverishly to help the surgeon tend the wounded. But there was no sign of Jacky.


	14. Chapter 14

On the Trail of the Bloodhound, Part 14:

_Wadi Halaf, Morocco. 26 November 1806. Entry by Randall Trevelyne._

I shall continue our account of the battle at Wadi Halaf on the 17th and its aftermath.

As noon approached the attackers withdrew. By tradition all activities must stop for midday prayers and this seems to include a halt in killing each other. We used the precious minutes to tend to our wounded and take stock of the situation. I was uninjured but I could see Jaimy had been hit in the shoulder. Hassan was with him and I ran towards them and helped him carry Jaimy into the meeting room where the other wounded soldiers lay. I counted the defenders still able to fight and it was immediately apparent the next concentrated attack would breach our defences. Hassan ran off into one of the other buildings and to my surprise returned with Jacky, Clarissa and a few other girls. Another group of girls ran towards the meeting room to tend to our wounded.

Things were obviously getting desperate if Hassan was calling on girls to join in the fight. I was voicing my protest about girls being made to fight when Clarissa stopped me mid-sentence and said none of the girls wanted to sit idly in the harem to face an unknown fate. She listed the likely outcomes for the girls if we lost the battle. Having their throats slit to avoid capture was the least unattractive of the possibilities.

Jacky suggested we use the two ancient cannon mounted on the towers either side of the gate in the west wall, but Hassan said the cannon hadn't been fired in decades and he didn't have anyone who knew how to load and fire them. Jacky quickly reminded him that she knew how and could show some of his men. But Hassan could spare no-one from the walls. In the end Jacky, Helen Rebecca and a giant of a man called Mustafa climb the two towers in turn to examine the cannon. The first cannon was too worn and cracked to be fired safely, but the cannon on the second tower looked more promising. We located some cannon balls and powder in the armoury and heaved four balls and a bag of powder up the tower. Jacky carefully loaded the cannon. Despite her brave face I could see she was worried it might simply explode in their faces when she fired it.

I take up my musket and join the men on the west wall. To my surprise Clarissa and Dolley follow me. We were as ready as we were ever going to be and I looked out across the wide open ground in front of us. I had barely time to take in the view when nearly two hundred men on horses and camels came charging towards us. They soon split into two groups, one moving towards the south wall and the other straight for us. When the Berber were about the right distance away Jacky lit the touch hole on the cannon and it let out a huge roar. A large plume of flame leapt from the muzzle of the cannon. It was a very impressive display of noise and light, but was a failure in terms of destructive power. The cannon ball must have been so old it broke apart as it left the gun and fell harmlessly in a thousand pieces, well short of the target. But the noise and flame was enough to spook the horses and camels who promptly turned tail and turned the attack directed at the west wall and gate into chaos. We had succeeded enough to stop the attack for the moment.

Jacky must have decided it would be too dangerous to fire the cannon again given its age. So Clarissa, Dolley and I prepared our muskets to defend the wall with our lives. We saw that the attack on the south wall was pushing the defenders hard and Hassan was marshalling his soldiers into a defensive line in the courtyard. A few minutes later Hassan orders Clarissa, Dolley and I to join the defensive line in the courtyard in front of the buildings.

We made it just in time. The south wall defenders had been overpowered and the survivors had joined Hassan and Rashid in the courtyard. To my horror I realised Jacky and the others on the tower were trapped and couldn't reach us. But perhaps they'd be safe out of sight up up there. The Berber came charging round from the south wall towards the courtyard, while another group climbed onto the roof of the harem. From what Clarissa told me there is a garden in the centre of the harem and they could easily access all of the harem by dropping from the roof into the harem garden.

A tense battle raged for about ten minutes and I could see many injured Berber in the courtyard and the harem roof. The harem was not undefended it seems. The heat of the battle caused us to lose concentration and the next thing we knew a Berber leapt off the harem roof and landed right on top of Dolley. Her robe came open in the tussle and the man suddenly found his eyes three inches away from a piece of filmy gauze behind which were Dolley's ample and barely concealed breasts. He suddenly hesitated, which was his big mistake, as Clarissa swung the butt of her musket across his head and he collapsed unconscious on the floor.

Shortly after we realised the attack had stopped and we could see the Berber climbing back over the south wall and riding away. None of us knew what was going on, but were thankful for the respite. It was Dolley who first noticed those on the tower had gone. At first we thought they were just hiding below the parapet, but the man sent up the tower to find them reported Mustafa dead and the three girls missing.

It was the next morning, when Sahlah came riding up to Wadi Halaf in one of our wagons, when we had more definite news about Jacky, Helen and Rebecca. Sahlah had stayed hidden with the wagons and horses throughout the battle, and saw the Berber arrive and depart by the same route. On their departure she noticed they had three girls tied across their camels. All three had sacks over their heads, so Sahlah couldn't be certain of who they were, but they are the only three unaccounted for.

As soon as Sahlah hears Jaimy is wounded, she goes to find him in the meeting room. His wound has been bandaged and he is now resting after having lost so much blood. Martha doesn't seem too pleased to see Sahlah, and only reluctantly leaves Jaimy in her care.

At first I can't understand why Hassan doesn't mount a rescue mission to save the three girls. It is only when I see how many men lie in the makeshift surgery that I realise we have too few men to recover the girls by force of arms. It is today before Rashid returns with fresh soldiers from Salé, but they are too few to both guard Wadi Halaf and mount a raid into Berber territory. But all is not lost as Hassan has been busy in the meantime gathering information.


	15. Chapter 15

On the Trail of the Bloodhound, Part 15:

_A small Berber encampment, 60 miles south-east of Wadi Halaf, Morocco. 3 December 1806. Notes made by James Fletcher for later entry into our journal._

Today we came across this small encampment belonging to a friendly Berber tribe. They had news about Jacky, Helen and Rebecca, and where they are likely to have been taken. By interrogating the wounded Berber captured after their attack on Wadi Halaf two weeks ago, Hassan already had a general idea of where the Berber raiders may have gone. The latest information narrows the possibilities down to a few neighbouring villages near an oasis called Biri Barash, three days ride from here.

Hassan had initially intended to track down the Berber raiders alone, but at the last minute allowed me to come with him. His only conditions were that I wear a Moroccan djellaba rather than my European clothes, and that we travel with only our swords for protection. Having a Berber mother means Hassan knows the Berber ways, and can survive out here in the vast semi-desert. An armed escort would only slow us down and attract trouble from otherwise peaceful tribes. I doubt we would have gained the information from this tribe had we been carrying guns, or been in a large group.

I had left Sahlah in the care of Hassan's sister, A'isha, and she is currently safely inside Hassan's harem. I was concerned at first by the reaction between Rashid and Sahlah. I had forgotten Sahlah's mother may still be in Rashid's harem, wherever that may be, and that Rashid is the one who first sold Sahlah into slavery. But Hassan assures me that no harm will come to her, and Rashid will respect my rights as Sahlah's current owner.

As for my own role in this rescue mission, I insisted on joining Hassan once I understood he had handed his claim over Clarissa and Jacky to Randall and I. I don't follow the legalities of what he's done, but it seems he wished to reward Randall and I for our help during the battle, and so Clarissa now belongs to Randall, and Jacky to me. At first we thought he was giving them to us as slaves, but he keeps saying no, they are war prizes. That bit neither Randall nor I quite follow, but if I'm somehow responsible for Jacky, I cannot stand idly by at Wadi Halaf while Hassan takes all the risks in trying to rescue them.

_Wadi Halaf, Morocco. 5 December 1806. Journal entry by Randall Trevelyne._

Hassan and Jaimy have been gone five days now and we have had no word of their progress. Clarissa and the other girls are putting on a brave face, but I know they must be worried about Jacky, Helen and Rebecca. Now Hassan has gifted Clarissa to me, I'm allowed to meet her each day in the meeting room and we even get a few moments alone. I'm not allowed in the harem though, so I only briefly see the other girls as they go about their chores.

Before Hassan and Jaimy left on their mission, he informed most of the Lawson Peabody girls that their ransoms have been paid and they would be returned to America as soon as a suitable ship arrives in Salé. Unfortunately with civil war about to flare up, there are few ships likely to risk stopping long enough for passage to be arranged for the freed girls.

As joyful as the news is for most of the girls, there is disappointment for some. No ransoms have been paid for Jacky, Sally or Helen, and only part of the ransom paid for Annie and Sylvie. Clarissa's ransom from her father has also arrived, which Hassan handed to me before he left as part of the arrangement regarding Clarissa.

Much to my surprise Clarissa doesn't seem upset that she is somehow now my property. Not a slave, I'm told, but most certainly my responsibility. The more I look at her, the more I feel transfixed by her graceful and alluring manner. She has always been pretty, but somehow her time here has taught her how to portray her beauty in its best light. Like now, I can barely keep my eyes from her body as she glides about in front of me. Her arms reaching out to me. Her …

Later: Well that was something I know Clarissa didn't learn in Boston. Although I can't help feeling she tricked me somewhere along the way. I can't remember at what point I agreed to use Clarissa's ransom money to top up the ransoms for Annie and Sylvie so they could be set free. On reflection, though, it seems the right thing to do. I'll arrange it with Hassan as soon as he returns.

Which just leaves Jacky, Sally and Helen with unpaid ransoms of the original thirty Lawson Peabody girls taken captive. With Hassan giving over his claim on Jacky to Jaimy, it is almost certain she can return with us when we leave. Clarissa tells me Sally wishes to stay here in Hassan's harem, so only Helen needs to be freed. But how? I made an oath when Jaimy and I left Boston that I would not return to America unless all the girls are freed.

_The oasis of Biri Barash, Morocco. 6 December 1806. Notes made by James Fletcher for later entry into our journal._

I am writing these notes quickly as we are about to enter the village where we are certain Jacky, Helen and Rebecca are being held. They are among fifty other young women captured from all over this region.

It seems the Sultan's army attacked this Berber village a few months ago and killed all the women and children. In reprisal, the Berber men have raided as far south as Casablanca and as far north as Salé to capture young women to replace those lost from their village.

Hassan assures me he has arranged everything with the Berber chief, and that all I need to do is follow his instructions when the time comes. I am far less sure of his plan. These Berber mounted a full scale assault on Wadi Halaf only a few weeks ago, and now Hassan wants the two of us to ride unarmed into the heart of their village.


	16. Chapter 16

On the Trail of the Bloodhound, Part 16:

_Wadi Halaf, Morocco. 12 December 1806. Entry by Randall Trevelyne._

Jaimy and I have agreed this will be the final entry in our travel journal. I was not the only one rejoicing at the sight of Hassan and Jaimy returning to Wadi Halaf with Jacky and Rebecca two days ago. Our happiness was subdued at first until we heard that Helen was not with them because she chose to stay at Biri Barash with her new husband. I just hope she will be safe out there in the foothills of the Atlas mountains. Hassan seems to think she will be fine, and anyway, she was aware of the risks when she made her choice.

As for Jaimy and Jacky, they are now engaged to be married, although neither seems entirely certain they've made the right decision. From what Clarissa has told me, Jacky seems quite taken with Hassan, although I can't see her being content with the strict rules of harem life. She's like a bird in the sky and values her independence too much. But then, marriage to Jaimy will clip our Jacky's wings. Perhaps that is what makes her seem so uncertain.

Not that Jaimy has an easier decision to make. He pretends that his relationship with Sahlah is platonic, and he is her master in name only. But more than once I've returned home at night after working for Fatima, to discover the two of them in a passionate embrace. Too busy to notice my entry or discreet exit from our room. The bar down the street has profited from my late night business on more occasions than I care to count. I have never dared ask Sahlah whether she truly likes Jaimy, or whether she is being the obedient slave girl, satisfying her master's lust.

And not content with Sahlah, there is Martha as well. Ever since she tended to Jaimy's wound during the battle, Martha has made no secret about her feelings for Jaimy. When Jacky returned to Wadi Halaf as Jaimy's fiancée, I had expected fireworks from both of them when each found out. From what Clarissa has told me of harem life, I don't doubt that it is a matter of **when**, rather than **if**, each finds out.

Anyway, we have only two more days here in Morocco. An American merchant ship has braved the political troubles and docked at Salé. Hassan's office in Salé has booked passage for all the Lawson Peabody girls still here, and for Jaimy and I. We're on our way home. We ...

"Is that your travel journal, Randall?"

"Jacky! What are you doing in here? I thought you were forbidden from entering this part of the house. It's the men's quarters."

"I'm allowed to enter with an escort. See, Samed is with me. I'm here to see Jaimy. I've something I want to talk to him about. Anyway, let me have a peak at your journal."

"Oh … Errr … I don't know Jacky. Perhaps we should discuss this with Jaimy. Oh, hey! … Ow!"

"No, Samed. It's alright. He didn't mean anything bad when he grabbed me. … Randall. I though you'd been here long enough to know you can't go round pawing girls like that. You're lucky Samed didn't break your arm. Now let's have a read of your latest entry in your journal."

I close my eyes knowing this isn't going to turn out well. After a few seconds I risk a peak to see Jacky still reading the last entry. She closes the journal firmly and doesn't seem too angry. But she doesn't seem too pleased either.

"You're very perceptive … for a man, Randall. Not like the rake and scoundrel I first thought you to be. If my heart didn't favour another, I might have given Clarissa a run for her money with you. … Don't look so shocked. Sahlah and I have talked and I know exactly how she feels about Jaimy … which remains a harem secret, incidentally. Now, as much as I would like to talk, I have something to discuss with Jaimy."

I quickly retrieve my travel journal and bury it in my bag. Curiosity gets the better of me and I follow Jacky and Samed down the corridor. Jacky stops briefly outside the door to Jaimy's room; knocks twice; and enters without waiting for a reply. I wait for the explosion.

Nothing. I stand in the doorway, quickly scanning the room for any sign of someone else and am relieved to see Jaimy is alone in his room sat at his desk writing a letter. But I was sure I heard a woman's laughter coming from this room not so long ago. Kazim, who has replaced the unfortunate Mustafa as one of the harem guards, is standing nearby. As Samed is escorting Jacky, this surely means another of the women from the harem is nearby.

Jacky is obviously aware of the significance of Kazim's presence and walks over to Jaimy's bed. There she bends down and picks up a gauzy pale-blue women's top; not unlike the ones I've glimpsed several of the Lawson Peabody girls wearing since I've been here. Jaimy looks very embarrassed but says nothing.

"Come in Randall. You may as well be witness to what Jaimy, Martha and I must discuss," says Jacky.

Jacky sits down on his bed and a very red faced Jaimy joins her. I hesitate to enter the room, but one look from Samed tells me a refusal could turn out to be very painful. I sit on a chair facing Jaimy and Jacky. We wait there for several seconds, saying nothing, before the door leading onto the balcony opens. Out walks a very scantily clad Martha. I turn my eyes away to avoid embarrassing her, but she makes no effort to conceal herself.

"Good. Come sit over here next to me, Martha. Jaimy has some important decisions to make, and I think he is going to need help from the three of us."

I notice Samed has moved to block the door. Whether it is to stop anyone else entering, or one of us leaving, is left unsaid. Jaimy seems a bit slow to comprehend how Jacky knew Martha was in this room. I feel I should enlighten him.

"Jacky saw Kazim in the corridor, so knew you must have feminine company. And she identified the top as belonging to Martha," I observe for Jaimy's benefit.

"Not exactly, but it will do," replies Jacky, looking remarkably calm given the circumstances. I can't imagine too many girls taking discovery of a near-naked girl in her fiancé's room this well.

"Jacky, I can explain," begins Jaimy. From his tone of voice I have a strong suspicion he can do nothing of the sort.


	17. Chapter 17

On the Trail of the Bloodhound, Part 17:

"I doubt it, Jaimy," says Jacky. "I'll save you the trouble of trying to lie. If the three of you just answer a few questions for me, then I'll suggest we all do."

We all take Jaimy's silence as agreement. Neither Martha nor I seem inclined to suggest an alternative, so we agree.

"Jaimy. What are your intentions regarding Sahlah?"

"I promised to find her a good family who will look after her in exchange for her services," replies Jaimy.

"Sell her, you mean?" says Jacky with an edge to her voice.

"As a free woman, if I can. But, if not … er ..."

"I see. Why not take her to America or England? As a free woman," continues Jacky.

"She would have difficulty finding decent work in either America or England given her background. And can you imagine my mother's reaction if I turn up in England with a former prostitute?"

Jacky turns to Martha and asks her a question in Arabic. Neither Jaimy or I understand her question, nor Martha's reply. Jacky thinks for a while, and then stands to face Jaimy and Martha.

"Very well. This is what I suggest we do. I shall ask Hassan if he will employ Sahlah as a servant here at Wadi Halaf. With the last of the Lawson Peabody girls to be freed leaving in the next day or so, he will need new servants to carry out the chores the girls have been doing while held here. Sahlah has proved herself very capable, so I don't think that should be a problem.

"Jaimy. I can't find adequate words to express my heartfelt joy and gratitude for the effort and risks you have taken to rescue me and the other girls from captivity. ... And to you, Randall, as well. … But as to our future together, you have clearly demonstrated here that I am not the girl in your heart. I love Martha as a sister and wish you both every happiness in your future. I release you from your offer of marriage, and shall be staying here in Morocco when you leave … At least for the time being. Goodbye Jaimy. Goodbye Randall."

She gives Jaimy and I a sisterly hug. With that Jacky and Martha leave the room while Jaimy and I just stand and stare.

Neither Jaimy nor I see Jacky again before we leave two days later. Or perhaps I should now refer to her by her Moroccan name, Zakiyah, since she's staying here. She apparently said goodbye to the sixteen Lawson Peabody girls travelling with us, from inside the harem. Unlike Sally, she and Sahlah don't come outside to see us off. Martha and Jaimy don't seem to mind, but I still worry if Jacky is going to be alright. However, with sixteen excited girls in our charge, neither of us have much time to dwell on the subject.

We board the two covered wagons which are to convey us to our waiting ship. Clarissa tells me these must be two of the wagons that brought the girls to Wadi Halaf six months ago. We set off on our month long journey to Boston.

Epilogue

Sally returns to the harem as soon as the wagons are through the gate. She goes straight to Jacky, who is sat by the pools being comforted by Sahlah.

"Are you sure you don't want to change your mind? A fast horse could still catch them," says Sally to the very unhappy Jacky.

"No. I must be strong. I've made my decision. Jaimy's made his decision too. What could have been between us is never going to happen. I'm only glad I found out now and not later."

"Well, I think he's a cad for treating you this way. And Martha …"

"No, don't blame Martha. She came to see me before she went to Jaimy's room the other night. I knew how she felt about Jaimy, and it was the only way to find out how he felt about her. If he'd turned her away, then things would be different; but he didn't."

"I still think he's a cad. And what about poor Sahlah?"

"I'm fine," replies Sahlah. "Jacky … Zakiyah, has arranged for me to stay at Wadi Halaf as a free servant. My child will be born and cared for here."

"I still think Jaimy should have at least offered to marry you, Sahlah."

"No. He doesn't know I'm pregnant. And he would never be happy with me as his wife. To him I'm just a girl to clean up after him and good for a tumble in bed. My mother warned me about men like him. Too high and mighty to marry the likes of me. … Sorry, Zakiyah."

"You're right, of course. I don't doubt his courage and passion, but at heart he's still a snob and a cad. … Oh, I must stop moping. What are we going to do now?" says Jacky.

"Well there's A'isha's wedding in a few weeks. We could practise some dance routines for her wedding feast," suggests Sally.

[End of Book 2. The story continues in _Legacy of the Bloodhound_]


End file.
